


Time Cannot Erase

by morningCrescent



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:19:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3836830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morningCrescent/pseuds/morningCrescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave thought it would be funny to introduce Karkat to the music of Evanescence. He wasn't expecting the troll to respond like this…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Cannot Erase

**Author's Note:**

> [based on a silly tumblr post i made.](http://frenchifries.tumblr.com/post/117276485695/imagine-dave-introducing-karkat-to-evanescence)
> 
> yes this is davekat. yes it takes place on the meteor. no it is not part of the bros with benefits series.

You and Karkat have been tentatively toeing the line of friendship for a couple of months now. Yeah, you still get on each other’s nerves, tease and harass one another, but nothing horribly mean-spirited. You’re past the point of preying on each other’s insecurities or, god forbid, fighting over Terezi. No, things are a lot better than that these days. You can comfortably share your interests with him while still getting a little good-natured ribbing in edgewise.

Which is why you thought it might be fun to introduce him to Evanescence. You figured he’d snort derisively, tell you how inane and inferior human music is, and be done with it. Or maybe he’d get a little more inflamed; maybe he’d berate you for subjecting his ‘auricular clots’ or whatever to such disgusting, melodramatic drivel and bemoan the human race for even producing such a thing. You were prepared for plenty of outcomes. But you weren’t prepared for… this.

He’s sitting next to you in the common room, staring intently at your laptop, from which the music is emanating. His shoulders are squared, nose sniffling, and—oh god—there are pinkish tears beginning to bead on his lower lashes. What have you done? Dear lord, _what have you done?_ You _definitely_ weren’t expecting him to respond like this. Should you… should you say something? You reach out a hand to touch his shoulder in what you hope is a comforting gesture, but he slams the laptop shut and stands abruptly before you can make full contact.

“I,” he starts, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “Thanks for, uh. Showing me that. It’s really… nice,” he says in a wavering voice between shuddering breaths. A pang of guilt resounds in your chest as Karkat sets his mouth in a hard line and turns to leave.

“Wait,” you say, grabbing at his wrist, but he just extricates himself from your grasp with ease.

“Really, I appreciate it,” he says without looking at you. “I’ll see you around.”

Before you can think of anything else to say, he’s gone, leaving you to stand there awkwardly and rethink your life choices.

***

It’s been two days since the Evanescence Incident, as you’ve been calling it in your mind. (Evanescedent? Incidescence?) He disappeared for the rest of the day afterwards, and you didn’t see him at all yesterday. Presumably he’s holed up in his room, and you’ve been meaning to check up on him, but you haven’t had the heart to face him. What would you even say? ‘Sorry for making you cry’? ‘Sorry for doing something as a joke that I didn’t think you would take as seriously as you did’? ‘Sorry for showing you music I should have known would dredge up painful and traumatic memories’?

Regardless of what exactly you end up saying, the fact remains that you’re going to have to apologize. You at least owe him that much, key words being _at least_. Really, you should do something to make it up to him. But what?

Make him a mix tape? What if you just end up putting even more upsetting music on it?

Write him a song? He might think you’re making fun of him.

Draw him a picture? You’re not even that good at drawing, even when you use your actual dominant hand. And what would you even draw? A picture of the two of you hugging it out? No, that’s a terrible idea.

Those are pretty much all of your skills, though, so you’re really not sure what else you could do. Well… you could always try just _talking_ to the guy. You don’t know. Maybe it’s a terrible idea. You’re not very good at talking about feelings or whatever. Okay, actually you’re complete shit at it. Like, the absolute worst. A childhood of emotional neglect and minimal human interaction except over the computer will do that to you.

The fact remains: you don’t have a choice. You fucked up and now you have to make it better. Shit, just thinking about how pitiful Karkat looked and sounded makes your heart clench. You have to do this. You’re _going_ to do this. You steel yourself, and head for Karkat’s room. You spend the trip going over what you might say to him.

 _Hey man, sorry about the other day. I didn’t think you’d get upset._ No, that sounds like you’re making excuses.

 _I’m really sorry, man. I should have known showing you that music was a bad idea._ Hmm, better.

 _Hey bro, about the other day. Listen, I’m sorry. I should have thought before I showed you that, but I didn’t because I’m an idiot, and I’m sorry._ Yeah, something like that.

All that goes out the window when you arrive at his door. You can hear the lilting music coming from inside, accompanied by the occasional choked whimper. And fuck, there goes your heart doing that thing again. You wait, and listen. It’s kind of sad that you can identify which song he’s listening to by the lyrics, but as soon as the chorus hits your ears, you know this one, and you know exactly what he’s feeling.

_Where will you go_  
_With no one left to save you from yourself_  
_You can’t escape the truth_  
_I realize you’re afraid_  
_But you can’t abandon everyone_  
_You can’t escape_  
_You don’t want to escape_

This one might be the worst possible song for Karkat. You’re certain he’s applying it to himself, and it’s hitting him where it hurts. Shit, shit, shit, you are the worst! You _knew_ he hated himself. You _knew_ he blamed himself for everything that went wrong. You knew all that and still, like an idiot, without thinking, you introduced him to music about the very things he hates about himself.

You can’t stand it anymore. You knock on the door and are met with muffled swears and clattering sounds and an abrupt stop to the music. A few moments of silence, then: “Come in.” It’s said in the most pitiful voice imaginable, thick with mucus and low with shame.

You open the door slowly, like you’re walking in on an injured wild animal that might lash out in pain at any moment. Hell, you practically are, aren’t you? When you get the door all the way open, you’re greeted with a sight that makes you want to throw yourself into your planet’s lava rivers. Karkat is curled up in a pile of abandoned knitting projects (scavenged from Maryam and Lalonde of course), fingers rubbing futilely at bloodshot eyes, chest heaving as he tries to regulate his breathing, sporadic whimpers squeezing from his throat.

You hesitate a moment, and then you’re across the room and at his side. He’s got his legs tucked against his chest and his gaze is firmly fixed on his knees, but as soon as you get an arm around him he’s tipping into you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. He releases his legs and clutches at the front of your shirt, burying his face in your shoulder. You put your other arm around him so that you’re holding him in an awkward sideways embrace and rest your chin between his horns. The two of you stay like that for a bit, Karkat trembling in your arms as he attempts to regain composure, you stroking his back and hair soothingly.

After a few minutes, he pulls back, hands still fisted in your shirt, and looks up at you. The skin around his eyes is puffy and swollen, and his golden sclerae have taken on a slightly more orange hue. The remnants of tears cling to his dark lashes, and his thick brows are knotted as if they aren’t sure how to properly express emotion anymore. You take a breath. You’re going to have to talk. Shit, what was that thing you planned to say? Maybe just start simple.

“I’m sorry.” He blinks, eyebrows squinching upwards just a tick, but doesn’t say anything, which you take as a sign that you ought to continue. “I… I probably shouldn’t have… you know.” Wow, articulate. “I mean. I guess I wasn’t thinking. I should have known it was a bad idea but it didn’t occur to me because I’m an idiot. And I’m sorry.”

Karkat closes his eyes, and a few more tears dribble down his cheeks. He inhales deeply, exhales slowly, and opens his mouth.

“I’m the idiot,” he says. His voice is rough—well, rougher than usual—and he wipes his face with the back of his hand. “I shouldn’t.” His voice catches, and he pauses to breathe again. “I shouldn’t be so— _fuck_ —so sensitive. I’m a fucking wriggler, is all. S’not your fault.”

You pull him closer to you and dig your fingers into that black thicket of hair on his head.

“Don’t… you’re not… you’re not a wriggler,” you say quietly. “Or an idiot. You’re… we’re just kids, bro.”

You work your fingers against his scalp, and a rattling purr starts up in his chest. He leans heavily against you; his breathing is starting to even out. You apply more pressure with the pads of your fingers, and the purring intensifies. Digging in with a gentle scrape of fingernail elicits a satisfied groan. You kind of want to see Karkat’s face, but you don’t want to move or anything, so you settle for imagining. You imagine his face is starting to relax, eyes shut but not tense, eyebrows twitching with every movement of your fingers. You continue the scalp massage, dragging your fingers from the nape of his neck to his hairline and back again.

The goal may have been to calm Karkat down, but honestly you’re starting to feel pretty chill yourself. You snuggle down into the pile, keeping Karkat tight against your chest, and move your hand rhythmically back and forth, back and forth. The vibrations from his purring travel through his abdomen and into yours, and judging by the regularity of his breathing, you think he might be dozing off. You’re so relaxed, lying there with this rumbling troll boy pressed up against you, that you even feel yourself start to nod off, too. So relaxed that you barely even register the way he nuzzles into you, or the way his legs are tangled with yours, or the way your mouth has curved into a slight smile.

Maybe introducing Karkat to Evanescence wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.


End file.
